"Where should we set it up?" Trinket asked as she and Daphne followed Booker out of the laboratory.

"I think maybe the kitchen? By the stove? If the snake comes looking for warmth, that seems like a good place to go," he said, turning down the hallway with the snake-catcher tucked under his arm.

"Will one be enough?"

He glanced down at the device. "For now. I'm finding it a little difficult to concentrate, so I'm not sure I can make another one right away. But if we need more, I'll get on it."

Trinket furrowed her brow at the dark bags under his eyes. Was he still having trouble sleeping? Lack of sleep combined with all of this work he was doing was bound to take its toll. She wanted to tell him to rest, but with a deadly snake on the loose, there wasn't much of a choice.

"There, I think that should work," he said, setting the device by the stove. "Can you fetch me a match?"

Daphne hurried to the dresser and returned with one. Striking it against the wall, Booker knelt down and set the wick inside the snake-catcher aflame, filling the kitchen with the faint scent of burning oil.

"And it's ready," he said, shaking the match out.

Leaning against the kitchen table, Trinket watched the flickering light of the small flame cast against the tiled floor. "So now we have to chill the house?"

"Yes. I'll go out and see if I can't find some ice," Booker said as he pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "Lord, is that really the time? There'll be no ice sellers out this late. I'll have to resort to other means."

"Other means?"

"I'm afraid so. I'll go take care of it."

He headed back into the hallway. "Wait, is it a good idea for you to leave right now?" she said as she followed him to the front door.

"Well, I don't exactly have another choice at the moment," he said, his hand on the doorknob.

"But what if the snake shows up? What will we do?"

He flashed her a smile. "You and Daphne are more than capable of taking care of things. I won't be gone long, anyhow. In the meantime, could you put out the fireplaces and maybe open the window in the kitchen? I doubt the snake will be able to reach that one."

Though she was still anxious about him leaving, she nodded slowly. "We'll do our best."

He grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you. I'll be home soon."

With one last smile, he let her go and closed the door. She released a long breath and rubbed her aching eyes, trying to ignore the shadows flitting in and out of her line of vision. If they didn't find the snake soon, there was no telling what sort of hallucinations might be brought on by her exhaustion.

While Booker was away, she and Daphne doused all the lit fireplaces, plunging the house into darkness save for the two candles they each carried to keep from tripping down the stairs. Though the stove was still slightly warm from having boiled water earlier in the night, it was certainly cooler than the snake-catcher beside it. And once Daphne opened the window by the dresser, the gusts of wind and rain that blew inside helped to lower the temperature significantly.

"Hard to believe it's spring," Trinket said, rubbing her hands together to stave off the cold.

Daphne smiled and put her arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you. And I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier. You know, up in my room. With the snake."

Shaking her head, Daphne pulled her into a tighter embrace.

Trinket gave a hesitant smile. "At least now you know how crazy I really am. And why I was sent away."

Daphne's bright eyes grew dark as she knitted her brows together. She started to shake her head slowly, but then the front door opened. They exchanged a glance before rushing out to the hallway. Booker was leaning against the door and flashed them a grin as they hurried towards him.

"Ice should be on the way," he said.

"And where are you getting this ice?" Trinket asked.

"A reliable source."

Too tired to argue about his sources, she rubbed her eyes and let out a long breath. "So what do we do in the meantime?"

"Based on those bags under your eyes, I think you should probably rest."

She raised an eyebrow at his own haggard appearance. "I could say the same to you."

He shook his head and made his way into the parlour. "Can't. I need to wait up for the ice delivery," he said, sitting on the settee and propping his feet up on the table.

Setting her candle down, she sat beside him. "Do you think this will really work?"

"I have no idea. But we can only hope. Otherwise, I'll need to start brushing up on my snake hunting skills."

"Is snake hunting a thing?"

Booker chuckled. "Who knows? People hunt all sorts of things. Foxes, bears, lions—"

"Vampires."

He smiled at her. "Yes, vampires, too."

Daphne, who had slipped back into the kitchen, returned with a plate of cheese and bread. She pushed it towards them and raised her eyebrows before taking a seat in the armchair, pulling her feet up under her skirts.

"It just dawned on me," Trinket said as she took a bite of bread. "If we need to keep the house cold, that means no more tea until we catch the snake."

Booker widened his eyes. "Well, now we have no choice but to find the blasted thing."

~

After an hour of playing a challenging game of cards in the dark, the front bell rang over and over excitedly. Booker and Trinket jumped to their feet and hurried to the door where they were met by a small group of urchins led by a grinning Gin.

"Did someone order ice?" she asked, holding up a block of frozen water.

"Well done, Gin," Booker said, opening the door wider to let the children in.

Daphne disappeared into the kitchen while Trinket watched the group march inside with at least half a dozen ice blocks in their arms. "How did you get so much at such a late hour?" she asked.

"I could tell you the truth," Gin said, overseeing her fellow urchins as they stacked the ice in the parlour, "but I don't think your little law-abiding heart could handle it."

With a teasing smile, she gave her a wink, and Trinket playfully knocked her hat over her eyes.

"Well, I daresay that snake doesn't stand a chance," Booker said as he examined the ice.

"Still can't believe you got a pet snake and didn't tell me," Gin said.

"I wouldn't call this a pet," Trinket mumbled.

"Good work, everyone," Booker said, turning to the other urchins. He pulled out a purse filled with coins and handed it to Gin. "I'll trust that this will be divided fairly."

She tucked it into her pocket. "Your trust is not misplaced. Let me know if you need any more help. I'll be close by."

"Thank you, Gin. And the rest of you, as well."

Daphne returned from the kitchen with a loaf of bread, which she gave to Gin as the small crowd of urchins filed out the door.

"Is that all for us?" asked a little boy who was missing his two front teeth.

The other children stared at the loaf as though it were more valuable than the money in Gin's pocket. Booker cleared his throat as he scooped up the tray of bread and cheese in the parlour and offered it to the boy with the missing teeth.

"Yes, it is," he said.

The little boy's eyes went wide as he took it, and without even a muttered "thank you," the urchins rushed outside, already dividing up the food amongst themselves.

Gin turned to Booker and raised her eyebrows. "Good luck," she said, closing the door behind her.

Trinket couldn't stop smiling at Booker as he secured the lock. He turned back to her and frowned. "What?" he asked.

Sucking in her lips, she headed into the parlour. "So now what?" she asked as she approached the ice.

Booker joined her, grinning playfully. "Now it's time for some heavy-lifting."

He grabbed a block of ice from the top of the pile and hauled it upstairs. Trinket and Daphne did the same, following after him. They placed a chunk of ice in each room that had been opened upon the snake's escape: the library, the washroom, all of their rooms. Booker even brought a piece down into the laboratory.

"I think it may be working," he said as he returned upstairs, leaving the laboratory door open.

The house certainly was colder than it had been before they got the ice. Trinket rubbed her arms to generate some warmth. "Seems to be," she mumbled.

Pulling her shawl from the coat rack, Booker draped it over her shoulders and put his arm around her. "At least you're wearing clothes now," he said.

She glared at him even as her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.

He grinned impishly. "Now, as long as we don't catch cold and expire, we should soon have in our possession a spotted tree hopper."

She let out a sigh. "I hope you're right."

"I'm almost always right," he said, leading her and Daphne back into the parlour.

"There's that charming humility again."

"Irresistible, am I not?"

Oh, he had no idea how irresistible she found him. He was so irresistible that it took concentrated effort to keep from grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him hard. But telling him that would only inflate his swollen ego. So instead, she raised her eyebrows and responded, "Irresistible. Irresponsible. Irrational. Irritating."

Laughing, he pulled her closer as they sat on the settee. Daphne looked between them knowingly as she took her seat in the armchair.

"Well, there's only one word I can think of for you," he said to Trinket.

"Irrepressible?"

His eyes grew soft. "Irreplaceable."

Determined to ignore Daphne's grin and the heat rising in her own cheeks, Trinket turned her eyes downward and adjusted her skirts. "Irrelevant."

He squeezed her arm. "Irrefutable."

Even though she fought against it, she could not keep a smile from spreading over her face as she met his gentle gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, and the room suddenly felt a little warmer.

~

Trinket wasn't even sure what time it was anymore. All she knew was that it was dark and cold. Very cold. Daphne, despite being so worried about the snake sneaking up on her, had dozed off in the armchair. Booker retrieved a blanket and draped it over her before settling back onto the settee with Trinket.

"You know, you can sleep as well," he whispered to her.

She shook her head. "I can't let you do this all on your own."

"It's my fault the snake got loose in the first place."

"True, but as your assistant, I must be vigilant in my work."

"I think requiring you to stay up all night searching for a venomous snake is asking a bit much."

She shrugged and drew her shawl closer. "It's no worse than being chased by thugs."

He shifted beside her, reaching up to gently stroke the wound on her head. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have gotten roped into all that."

Though his touch was warm and made her heart pound, it also sent a sharp pain down her neck. "It was my choice to go after the girl," she said, pulling away a bit.

His hand rested on the back of the settee. "So you said you found out where she lives?"

She nodded, immediately regretting the gesture as another sharp pain shot through her. "Yes. It's the same apartment building where they discovered the old man's body."

"Perhaps they were neighbors?"

"Possibly. There was something strange about the look in her eyes when she saw the shop girl's body."

"Something other than terror?"

"Yes. It was more personal. More troubling. Something closer to guilt."

"Guilt? Do you think maybe she could be the vampire?"

You know who the vampire is.

But you won't tell him that, will you?

Hesitating, she shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, I suppose that's a possibility. But it seemed like a different sort of guilt. At the very least, she appears to be involved with the vampire in some way."

The conversation faded into a long silence. Trinket's eyes began to droop as the ticking from the grandfather clock echoed through the cold, still room.

"You know," Booker said, jerking her awake, "I really do see you as more than an assistant."

She turned to face him, though it was hard to see his expression through the dark. "Yes, I'm your housemaid, as well."

He shook his head and leaned in closer so that she was able to catch the glint of his cognac eyes. "I do not view our relationship as one between an employer and an employee."

Her mouth was suddenly dry. She tried to swallow but only managed to make it worse. "How do you view it, then?"

He shifted slightly, his hand moving from the back of the settee to her shoulder. His touch sent little shocks of electricity through her veins, every inch of her body practically vibrating with anticipation.

"I respect you and your opinion more than I've ever respected anyone or anything in my life," he said.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Even more than Benedict?"

He hesitated. "Yes, I believe so."

A warm glow ignited in her chest. "My, that's quite the compliment."

"Benedict means so much to me. He was my first friend. He was the one who started me on the path to science and medicine. He's been the one who has driven me all of these years. But you're different. You came into my life and made me question all my goals and priorities."

The glow faltered. "That doesn't sound like a positive thing."

"No, it is. It most certainly is. You hold me accountable. You expect more from me when everyone else around me—the police, the people of Tinkerfall, Frieda, Benedict—just sees my bad behavior as inevitable."

"So I'm a nag."

He chuckled softly. "'Nag' isn't exactly how I would put it. You're more like my conscience. Or at the very least, you're the electric jolt my conscience needed to get it working again."

"I'm not sure if you consider that good or bad."

"Good. Most definitely good." His fingers found her hand, and the feel of his skin against her own made her stomach twist. "You are all good, Trinket."

A heavy weight settled in her chest. Good. She was not good. The clear memory of Merrill's blood on her hands was a firm reminder of that. But the way Booker said it made her wish she were good. Maybe then she would be worthy of whatever it was that was developing between the two of them. Maybe she wouldn't be consumed by this horrible guilt every time she found herself lost in his eyes. Maybe she wouldn't be terrified that she would destroy him and everything he had worked so hard for.

"You have so much potential for good, Booker," she said, her throat tight from her warring emotions. "You just have to make the right choices."

He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand. "I'm trying. I'm trying so hard."
"I know. I see that. And I'm proud of your efforts."

"Please don't give up on me."

Her heart skittered. "I don't believe in giving up on people."

"Even yourself?"

She hesitated, her veins suddenly turning to ice.

"I see it," he continued. "Every once in a while, I see that look in your eyes. Like you think you don't deserve to be alive. As if you're committing some sort of sin by being happy."

You don't deserve to be alive.

Your very existence is a sin.

Closing her eyes, she took a shuddering breath. If only he knew. If only he knew why she didn't deserve happiness.

He should know.

She should tell him.

Why couldn't she tell him?

"Trinket, your past does not define you."

"Even if I've hurt innocent people?"

"You are not the monster you think you are."

Tears stung her eyes as she shook her head slowly. "You don't know what sort of monstrosities I'm capable of," she said, unable to conceal the tremor in her voice.

He cupped her face. "I've seen what you're capable of. And I still say you deserve happiness. No matter what you've done in the past, you deserve to live without this guilt and self-loathing."

Lies, lies, lies.

"Maybe it's what I deserve. Maybe these awful feelings inside of me are penance for my sins."

A tear escaped, and as it ran down her cheek, Booker brushed it away with his thumb so gently it only made her want to cry more. "I can't imagine that anyone who loves you would want you to suffer like this," he said.

She met his eyes. "I didn't think you loved anyone, Mr. Larkin. How are you suddenly such an expert in matters of the heart?"

His gaze wandered back and forth, and she was surprised by how vulnerable he looked at that moment. Sitting in the dark, clutching her face like she might disappear, searching for words that would not come.

Leaning forward, he opened his mouth and began to speak. "Trinket, I—"

A faint clicking noise echoed down the hallway, followed by the sounds of thrashing and metal clattering on the floor.

They exchanged a look before scurrying to their feet. "Let's get the blasted thing before it sets the house on fire," Booker said as he hurried out of the parlour.

"Well, that was always Plan B," she said, right on his heels.